


Little Death

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - GTA, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Asexual Character, Asphyxiation, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by and based off the song "A Little Death" by The Neighbourhood. </p><p>"Dancing through the night / A vodka and a sprite / A glimpse of the silhouettes / A night that they never forget"</p><p>Ray gets shaken up during a heist gone wrong and he and Ryan flee to a motel in the aftermath. They spend the night together to help Ray feel alive again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to the song here! It's really great for setting atmosphere.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bRfMwoIizTQ
> 
> I also want to note that there are a few references, in both the song and the fic, that sex = human. I don't condone this at all. My Ray is asexual, and he can definitely live without sex. But it's this particular kind of touch, in this particular kind of context, that invokes this reaction in him.

It’s not a near-death experience that Ray is used to. It’s nothing like bullets whirring past his ear, or the heat of an explosion on his tail as he drifts around city curbs. It’s too close, too personal, and his heart feels frozen in his chest for hours afterwards.

They have their hands on him; a fist in his shirt and one in his hair; a strangers’ boot kicking his gun across the road. He feels dizzy. This isn’t part of the plan. He’s supposed to be on the roof, sniping out the competition. Not making friends in an alleyway, with a hand around his throat stopping him from calling his radio for help. But Geoff wanted him on the ground, crossing gunfire with Ryan to keep the heat off Team Charlie’s back while they swerve away from the cops. They all knew there’d be attention from other gangs, and they’d all been warned. But that doesn’t make it any easier for Ray to breathe as his feet lift off the ground and the cold steel of a gun is dug into his chin.

He’s sure his chest is heaving to keep up with his heavy breaths when they finally drop him to the ground. But he can’t feel it. His skin is numb as he crumples to the concrete, his vision is blurred as he watches the flurry of gunfire and brutal fisticuffs in the alleyway. He grasps a hand around his own neck, then clasps a hand over his mouth as he keels over. His veins run hot and cold in quick succession like a faulty tap as he struggles to keep his eyes open and watch Ryan storm in and take care of the gang thugs like they were flies on his windscreen.

It’s over quickly. At least, he thinks it is. Time shatters into small shards and he struggles to gather all of them up, but something is lost along the way and he finds himself driving. His hands are wrapped tightly around a foreign steering wheel, his mind is void of thought and sound except for the dull humming of the engine. Ryan is in the passenger seat, and there’s blood everywhere. They’re both sitting shockingly still.

Ryan notices the blankness of Ray’s expression when they pull up on the side of the road. The street is unfamiliar to both of them; the blaring city of light and sound is behind them.

“Geoff said we’re okay,” Ryan tells him, and even though Ray’s sure they’ve been driving for a while, he sounds out of breath.

“We’re okay?” It’s a different question. 

“We’re okay."

In central Los Santos, Geoff has his boys rifling through bags of cash, sorting and filing and packing. Jack’s in a police-sprayed helicopter, circling the city skyline to ensure their turf is calm. The loose ends are tied, and Ray’s hands are relaxing around the steering wheel.

“Are _you_ okay?” Ryan tries.

Ray frowns, still looking straight ahead. A Surfer cruises by them, the roar of its engine reminding him that they’re not alone in Los Santos.

“I feel strange."

Ryan nods slowly. Ray sees it from the corner of his eye. He opens his mouth to speak, when Ray continues.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment."

“We’ve got the whole city to ourselves,” Ryan says, and it’s enough to have Ray shifting back into gear and pulling away from the curb.

They drive for an hour. Into the city, out of the city, back in again, until Ray’s legs are bouncing restlessly and he’s pulling into a parking space under the harsh red glow of a motel _Vacancy_ light. Dusk is slowly pulling the colours out of the sky as they get out of their stolen car, and Ryan follows Ray into the reception and then into their new motel room.

“This place is terrible,” Ryan thinks aloud as his eyes scan across the room. There’s a stale scent which hangs heavy in the air; he can see mould in the corners of the room and everything feels subtly out of place. He absently runs his fingers across the wall and swears he pulls a trail of dust under his fingertips.

“I don’t care.” Ray beelines for the bar fridge, pulls out a mini-bottle of vodka and throws it to his companion, then a Sprite out for himself. 

“Are we paying for these?” Ryan asks as he inspects the bottle, hesitant to open it.

“I don’t care,” Ray repeats, as he cracks the lid on what he’s sure is a flat soda.

Ryan sets his own bottle down, searching for a glass. Ray walks up behind him, his body leaning hesitantly against Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan pays it no notice, and asks instead, “Can I mix this?"

Ray silently hands over his soda for Ryan to make himself a drink. He keeps himself close, shoulders bumping with his companion’s, watching the other’s actions intently until he can’t take the silence any longer.

“I’m fucking numb, Ryan."

“Did they hurt you?” Ryan keeps his head down, his hands busy.

“I don’t know. I can’t feel anything."

“You’re being a little dramatic."

Ray tries to laugh but he just breathes sharp and short. “That’s nice, coming from you.” A beat, then, “Ryan."

Ryan finally lifts his glass to take a swig, then turns to look down at the other.

“Touch me, please. I don’t — I don’t feel like I’m here. That’s fucking stupid, huh-"

Ryan has a hand cupping Ray’s jaw before he has a chance to finish, before he has a chance to change his mind. Ray feels a rush of coldness surge through him, trickling down his body and clustering into a cold burning at Ryan’s fingertips. 

Ray feels small. He frowns. “I can’t take it."

Ryan tips his head back, finishing his glass and setting it down on the table. He brings his free hand up to Ray’s face, holding it in both hands now, tilting it up to look at him. 

“What did they do to you?"

“Nothing,” Ray immediately sputters, “They just. Grabbed me. They held my neck. I could feel his breath on my face."

Ryan slowly slides his hands down from Ray’s jaw to his neck, wrapped loosely around the pale bruises. Ray’s skin flares up and it feels like his skin is on fire. His eyes falls shut.

“Please touch me."

“I am."

“Touch me everywhere. Touch me _there._ "

Ryan is quiet for just a moment longer than usual. “You don’t like to be touched there."

Ray can feel his hands faltering around his neck. He feels his fingers tense, but don’t tighten. His body sways closer to Ray’s at the invitation, but roots himself to the ground to hold himself back.

“I swear to god, Ryan."

Any hesitation left in him is swept aside as Ryan’s hands snap back up to Ray’s jaw, pulling him up to meet his lips. There’s no chance for chasteness as Ryan bites at Ray’s bottom lip to open his mouth and delve his tongue past Ray’s teeth.

Ray’s mouth feels like fire. His lips and teeth spark like lighters and the heat drips down his bones, falling to numbness around his ribcage. But his mouth feels like _fire_. He pushes himself up to his toes to meet it, chasing the feeling; chasing the heat and the shock and the _something_ beyond the numbness in his toes. 

They part from each other when Ray begins to mumble and Ryan can’t make out the words. “Fuck me,” he says again, dragging his lips against Ryan’s stubble. “Fuck me until I can feel again."

Ryan doesn’t ask what he means and, just for a moment, Ray wonders if Ryan is familiar with the feeling.

Ray hates that Ryan lets go. He can feel the ghosts of his hands over his skin, like burn marks left in his flesh. It stings against the cold night air drafting in through a faulty window. He hates that Ryan lets go but only because he’s so impatient, because Ryan doesn’t understand how much Ray needs this. He’s not looking to please his partner, he’s not looking for a quick frot in the back of Ryan’s Vacca. This time, it’s not about Ryan at all. But it’s something that only Ryan can give him.

Ryan knows just where to touch him to make it feel _right_.

Ryan’s on his knees now, his arms settled around Ray’s waist with his hands on his backside, squeezing into the denim as he noses into Ray’s hoodie to expose the strip of skin above his waistline. His breath feels coal hot and it makes Ray reach for his drink, fumbling to pick something up and hope it’s Sprite.

It’s not. The vodka burns his throat but it’s exactly what he needs. 

Ryan’s teeth are scraping against his hipbone and his hands are pulling him closer, pressing his nose flush against Ray’s stomach. The heat of his breath and tickle of his tongue makes him twitch; the touch pleases his nerves and warms up his gut in a way that his imagination never could. Ray has never been one for sex; never had much interest in dirty magazines or dimly lit clubs, and even when he’s had Ryan’s weight on top of him, tongues and teeth colliding, there’s little that can really stir him into wanting any more than that.

But Ryan knows just where to press and lick and nip to get Ray’s back arching. He can scratch an itch Ray didn’t know he had, until he’s writhing and desperate for release. Ray has never been one for sex, but if Ray ever wants to want it, Ryan knows how to tempt him. And importantly, he knows how to make him feel whole again.

Tonight, he knows what he wants. He wants it so badly. It only takes so long for his mind to convince his body to follow suit, and the moment he feels his cock twitching, he pulls Ryan up to his feet. Ryan keeps his hands on Ray’s ass for as long as he can, until Ray’s fingers are fumbling with the zip of his hoodie and he has to help him off with it. Ray’s hands are shaking as Ryan undresses him, slowing when they reach his underwear and pausing to start removing his own garments.

“You’re filthy,” Ray mutters. He watches Ryan’s jacket, shirt, jeans, all fall to the floor. He finally notices the grit on his hands in comparison to his paler chest. The blood on his face, the sweat in his hair. He’s probably looking just as bad himself. He doesn’t have much time to think on it before Ryan’s leading them both into their tiny ensuite. Ray blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes, a hot jet of water is pounding down against his back.

Ryan lets the shower water run just too hot, and his hands linger over Ray’s body just underneath the spray. Ray tries washing himself but ends up with soap in his eyes, and spends the rest of the shower holding himself up against the tiled wall while Ryan drags a heavy washcloth over the day’s battle scars. After a time, he feels Ryan’s chest pressed against his back, snug against the curve of his spine, and his lips against his ear. He can already feel Ryan’s half hardness pressed against his thigh.

“Open your eyes,” Ryan murmurs, and Ray complies. Ryan kisses the pressure point of his jaw and Ray automatically turns his head against it, finding himself staring into the bathroom mirror hanging off the door. He studies them both, the way his body fits against Ryan’s, and watches where Ryan’s hands are coiling around his middle.

“You’re here with me, and they won’t take you away. Not today. Not tonight.” As he talks, Ryan has a hand wrapped loosely around Ray’s cock, and gives a light tug on the last word. Ray bumps his hips back automatically, but doesn’t let his eyes fall shut.

He doesn’t look like himself. Neither of them do. He’s never studied Ryan so closely before, and even half blinded by the water and his lack of glasses, it feels more like he’s watching a strange couple through a window than his own reflection.

“Hey." Ryan tries to bring him back to reality, and this time Ray’s eyes can’t help but squeeze shut when Ryan’s hand tightens around his cock. “Believe me.” But Ray can’t.

One of Ryan’s hands reach past him and the water suddenly turns cold. Ray wakes then, startled eyes flying open and hips knocking back as the water shuts off completely. When Ryan unwraps himself from his partner, Ray is still holding himself against the wall, breathing slowly.

“Get dried, if you want,” Ryan instructs, then steps out of the shower without so much as a glance at the towel rack. He leaves the bathroom, closing the door ajar behind him. Ray is given a chance to tip toe out of the shower and dry his face, just enough to let his glasses sit comfortably on his nose. When he brings the frames up to his face, the view of his reflection sharpens and he’s hit with another wave of nausea. He opts to flee from it, leaving his underwear on the ground as he re-enters the hotel room.

His eyes take a minute to adjust to the darkness. Ryan has switched off all the lights, leaving them in the black of night. The fluorescent lamp in the bathroom is but a line under the door, and the rest of the room is bathed in a red glow from the vacancy light outside. When Ray takes a few hesitant steps forward, he finally finds Ryan on the other side of the room by the window; his black silhouette is framed by the red light. He has his back to Ray, his arms reached up to gather his hair into a loose bun at the base of his neck. Ray stands still and watches, mesmerised by the shifting outline of the muscles in his shoulders and back.

He finally moves towards it again, eventually close enough to make out Ryan’s features in the dark. Without touching or talking, he falls back, landing on the queen sized bed with a gentle bounce on the mattress. Ryan turns at the squeaking of the springs, settling down on his knees before inching himself up Ray’s body. He backs Ray up against the head board before he finally kisses him again, using their position to settle over him and touch every inch of skin he possibly can.

Ray suddenly understands why they’ve foregone the lights — with Ryan’s hands painting pictures for him, he won’t need the light to see. All he needs is touch.

 

Ryan’s not just touching him now, but he’s pressing himself as close as he physically can. His torso keens into Ray's as the kiss becomes more fevered, and Ray can hardly breathe under the weight of their mouths and bodies. When Ryan finally pulls away for breath, Ray finds himself sitting up against the headboard, with his back flat against the wall. Ryan doesn’t show any signs of slowing down to let him rearrange himself.

They fuck right there, with Ray practically sitting upright and Ryan holding him like he’s the last thing he’s ever going to lay his hands on. His roughened fingers grab at his waist and hold him firm, and the friction between their chests rubs Ray raw from the inside out. With Ray’s body propped against the headboard, Ryan can let into him with a different kind of desperation; in a way that feels somehow limitless. Ray takes every slam of his hips with an insatiable hunger, trying to angle himself into it but eventually falling limp like putty in Ryan’s hands.

The red light from the window begins to burn his eyes so he shuts them tight, and time starts skipping behind his eyelids. He feels himself come, but it gets lost between their bodies. Ryan keeps hammering into Ray’s sated body. All he remembers is the sting behind his eyelids and the humming of the lamp outside, and after losing himself in the rhythm of it, Ray thinks he comes a second time.

Ryan’s teeth are digging into his shoulder and there’s blood on his collarbone. When Ryan finally pulls out, Ray lets gravity do the work and he slides down to lay horizontal on the mattress. The sudden change from a concrete wall to the plush sheets fills his muscles with warmth, and his fingers chase it down his body. When he opens his eyes, Ryan is sitting back on his haunches, propping himself up by Ray’s feet. He’s watching closely, catching his breath as his eyes follow Ray’s hands.

One of his fingers twitch — Ray’s attempt at reaching up to him. Ryan figures it out and leans back down, holds himself up over Ray’s body so his weight is against the mattress, but he’s just close enough for Ray to feel him. He kisses Ray’s fingers where they rest against his stomach, and drags his lips up Ray’s arms. He stops here and there, detouring to press slow, open mouthed kisses to his ribs, his hips and his collarbone. Ray’s eyes close again when he feels Ryan’s tongue press flat against his skin, licking up the specks of blood left from where he’d bitten too hard or scratched too deep.

When their lips finally press together, Ray kisses him sleepily, his head tilted back and his tongue sliding languidly against his partner’s. He feels Ryan’s hand wrap around his spent cock and he groans, although he doesn’t know if it’s from pain or pleasure. All he knows is that he’s oversensitive, and Ryan’s hands are doing well to ground him. 

Still soft in Ryan's hand, Ryan doesn’t move on until he has some form on confirmation. They lay and kiss for a while, as Ryan’s fingers trail up and down his length in an attempt to get him excited again. When his hand tightens around the base, Ray finally shifts his hip upwards to chase the touch, and Ryan takes that as all the consent he needs. Ray is glad, because he doesn’t have the breath to say it aloud.

He’s still only half hard when Ryan is lining up and pushing into him again. Like before, he moves slowly at first, but it doesn’t take long before he’s snapping his hips forward and Ray is trying his hardest to find some leverage to push back on. 

 

An hour passes and in all that time, Ryan has his hands somewhere on Ray’s body. Every orgasm fills Ray with a fiery warmth, and his skin starts to feel raw from the calloused fingers which hold it. But no matter how scratched or battered or spent he becomes, he feels fuller with every passing second; with every one of Ryan’s breaths on his cheek, he feels more human. 

They take a short break at one in the morning, much to Ray’s dismay. He’s exhausted and aching but he doesn’t want to lay alone, even if it’s only for a few minutes. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness and the red glow which bathes the room, so the sudden light from the open bathroom door is nothing but offending to him. He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, listening to Ryan’s movements in the bathroom behind him and waiting to feel the dip of the mattress beside him.

Despite the warmth and the comfort of the sheets, and despite the heaviness in his limbs, Ray can’t keep his eyes shut. By the time Ryan settles down next to him, he’s still alert and awake enough to hear the muffled clicking of Ryan’s lighter. Alarm bells go off in his head at the smell of smoke beside him, at the sound of Ryan’s deep and relaxed breaths. Ray doesn’t want to stop. Ryan only smokes when they're finished, and Ray isn’t _done_.

He rolls over to his other side so he can swing an arm across Ryan’s middle. Ryan automatically lays one hand on Ray’s hair, the other holding his cigarette to his lips. Ray’s throat tickles when he inhales the second hand smoke; his nose twitches at the awful smell. When he looks up, to where Ryan is sat against the headboard, he finds Ryan’s eyes are closed and his breathing is even. Not asleep, but incredibly relaxed.

Ray just downright refuses to let this happen.

He hoists himself up, his mouth reaching for Ryan’s jaw. He revels in the scratching of stubble against his lips and opens his mouth to let his teeth gently close around the sharp line of bone there. Ryan doesn’t object to it, but he sits completely still and continues to smoke his cigarette.

“Come on,” Ray mutters, surprising himself with how stunted and cracked his voice his. He hasn’t spoken beyond groans and moans that got stuck in his throat, and the pants of Ryan’s name muffled against lips and hands.

“I’m trying to smoke,” Ryan murmurs, finally turning his head away.

Ray’s hand moves from Ryan’s chest to coil around Ryan’s cock. Ryan doesn’t move, but Ray hears his sudden inhale with his breath so close to his ear. Ray gives a gentle tug, twisting his wrist and trying his best to arouse something in him while he swings a knee over Ryan’s to entangle their legs. He turns his head to kiss into his neck, sinking teeth into the skin under Ryan’s ear and suckling his tongue to bring out the bruise.

He’s actually enjoying himself, half on top of his partner and his hands exploring all over. So it takes him by surprise when Ryan’s hand is suddenly around his neck and he’s thrown aside and pinned onto his back, Ryan hovering over him. He can breathe perfectly well, but the weight of Ryan's fingers around his windpipe brings back the fire under his skin. Ray’s hands immediately withdraw away from Ryan’s body and he stares up, terrified, but there’s nothing truly malicious in Ryan’s eyes.

“I’m trying to smoke,” Ryan says again, voice lower and huskier, teetering on the edge of a growl. He pauses only to take one long drag from his cigarette before he stabs it downwards, burning the tip into Ray’s shoulder. 

Ray doesn’t quite shout, but he jerks against it, all the air rushing out of his lungs at once. Ryan holds him steady with the hand around his throat. He lifts the cigarette only to place another burn beside it, and Ray does end up shouting that time. He shouts, but he also arches his chest up into it, daring Ryan on.

In one swift motion, Ryan has taken it back into his mouth, giving him a free hand to reach down and grab Ray’s cock. Pleased to find him already half hard, he gives it a few tugs and rocks his backside down against it before he’s stiff enough for Ryan to sink down onto it.

The sound that spills from Ray’s lips is unlike any he’s made before. His hands are fisted white in the bedsheets beside him, toes curling in the same way, but unable to give much leverage with Ryan’s hand still pinning his throat to the mattress.

All he can do is watch as Ryan force Ray’s cock into him, eyes shut tight and brow furrowed, teeth clamped around his cigarette until he finally snatches it from his mouth. As soon as his lips are unburdened, his mouth falls open and he moans, his fingers twitching around Ray’s neck the deeper he takes him. 

It’s not long before he’s comfortably inside, and Ryan wastes no time in pulling his hips back up and rocking down against him. One palm is pressed against Ray’s chest, holding himself up and allowing the cigarette between his fingers to just scathe against Ray’s skin. The other holds steady around Ray’s neck, never faltering while he rides Ray out. No matter how desperately his hips move, lifting impatiently and slamming back down, his grip never loosens, never tightens beyond that point of no return. 

All Ray can do is feel.

Ray comes violently, or so it feels, and a shiver runs down his spine when he feels his own semen dripping down his cock from inside the other. Ryan has shifted his weight so he leans against his elbow, his shoulders hunched so low and his head dropped that his forehead can nearly touch Ray’s chest. His groan is guttural when he finally comes, spilling over Ray’s stomach.

They both sit stock still for a few minutes to catch their breath. Ryan’s hand has finally released Ray’s throat, but his head has dropped completely to rest his forehead on Ray’s ribs. Very slowly, he lifts himself up off of Ray’s cock, then settles himself back down against Ray’s thighs. He sits up, draws what he can from what’s left of his cigarette, then curls it up tightly in his fist to put out the remaining fire.

They don’t stop fucking until Ray finally falls asleep in the early hours of the morning. Ray’s turned onto his stomach once, but the rest of the night sees Ray on his back with Ryan deep inside him. He holds them close, sometimes thrusting hard and desperate, but sometimes pulling their bodies flush together and moving only as much as they need to. 

Ryan won’t stop kissing Ray’s neck, and Ray would think it some sort of apology if he didn’t spend so much time biting it too. He can’t bring himself to mind; for the kisses and the suckling and the hickies on his throat all take away from the tussle in the alleyway. When Ray wakes up and runs his fingers over the dark red and bruises, he won’t think of strange men in balaclavas; he’ll think of Ryan. He’ll remember the scrape of teeth in place of cold metal; the burn of a cigarette instead of heated gunfire.

Ray is pleased to find the red light washed away with the morning sun. It’s far too early for his liking; he’s usually one to wake at noon, especially considering he’s only been asleep for an hour or two. But the buzz is still in his veins, and he doesn’t feel as if he could fall back asleep just yet. He makes silent plans to nap when he’s back at home.

Ryan is beginning to stir. Ray hesitates to untangle himself from where he’s completely wrapped around the other, but knows it will pay off to get his shower over and done with so he can return to his own bed. He carefully pries the bedsheets back, knocking off the empty bottle of vodka and the remains of their ashtray onto the floor. 

He stands in the shower with his back leant against the tiled wall, eyes closed, trying to keep himself upright. The second the warm water hits his skin, he heaviness returns to him, and he starts to crave sleep once more. At least it’s a pleasant change from the constant buzz and rattling inside him.

He opens his eyes when he hears the shower door open, only just managing to crack a tired smile as Ryan steps in with him. He doesn’t move from where he’s leant against the wall until they’ve been under the water for ten minutes, and Ryan is gently pulling Ray closer to him. 

Ray expects a kiss, or something; something which he doesn’t have the energy to give right now. But Ryan just picks up their soap, starts to rub it in circles over Ray’s body to get him clean. Ray’s head ends up tipping onto Ryan’s shoulder while he’s washed and he’s thankful that their hands don’t stray.

Ryan drives Ray to Michael’s house in silence, beyond the single, “I can take you home if you want, you must be tired, you don’t have to see them,” but Ray shakes his head. It’s obvious that every movement is a strain in his muscles, but he remains adamant about seeing his friends. 

When they pull up to Michael's Vinewood house, Michael and Gavin are just stepping outside. Ray gives them a wave and they wave back, relieved to see one another in tact. The two round the corner into Michael’s garage, and Ray takes the opportunity of solitude to lean across the console.

He kisses Ryan slowly, with soft lips and hesitant tongues, nothing like the night before. Ryan just has enough time to brush his fingers over Ray’s jaw before the lad is pulling back, smiling tiredly at him.

“Thank you,” he mutters, “I feel great. Really.” And although he looks absolutely wrecked, Ryan can see the genuineness in his eyes.

“Have a good day."

“Mmm."

Ryan sits in the driveway as he watches Ray get out, his gaze following him into the other car and offering a polite wave to Michael as the three boys pull out onto the street. He sits there for some time, enjoying the last cigarette in his carton, and breathing in a scent which will forever have him thinking of Ray.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another song for you, not quite in the same atmosphere, but it's got the same idea behind it. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDaZJ-iTfcI
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
